


Milk and Honey

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Episode Related, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia delivers a sweater after the events of Gray Matters.  Spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be for the FringeFicFest winter drabble marathon but the words wouldn't stop. The prompt is "milk".

Olivia hunched her shoulders against the wind and hugged her arms closer against herself.  The warm afternoon had turned into a cold evening, wind whipping rain from the darkening sky.  She rocked back on her heels and tilted her head towards the door, listening to the approaching footsteps behind it.  She was heartsick and weary, wanting nothing more than to go home and collapse into bed.  Peter leaned towards the glass of the door, peering through to meet her eyes before yanking the door open.

 

The relief on his face was enormous.

 

"Oh, thank god.  Thank _you_.  He's been…"  Peter rubbed at the bridge of his nose.  "I couldn't leave him alone and Astrid had already left the lab and the thought of Walter in a car right now…"  Peter trailed off and stepped aside to let her in the door.

 

"Who is that?"

Walter's voice was sharp, held paranoid tones that reminded her of when he was first released from St. Claires.  Both men looked tired.  Tension in the lines of their forms, the clench of their jaws that hinted at an argument recently interrupted.

 

Olivia tilted her head slightly and regarded the elder Bishop.  "Hello, Walter."

 

He was dressed for bed, save for the khaki slacks he still wore, and tugged his robe closed.  "Oh.  Olivia."  He cast his glance around the room, lips moving slightly as he struggled with his response.  "It's very nice to see you."  The words were wooden and clipped, pulled up out of a sense of appropriateness drilled in by Peter's persistence rather than sincerity.

 

"I brought you your sweater."

 

Walter's eyes sparked when he saw it, noticed it for the first time and he made a little sound of excitement.  He snatched it from her hands and was shuffling back towards the kitchen faster than she would have thought possible.

 

"Walter!"

 

The older man halted.  When he turned back towards them the glare caught Olivia off guard.  That sneer was not the affable Walter she had grown fond of, nor the damaged genius hampered by his own mind.  The man before them in his shabby robe, clutching a cardigan to his chest like a greedy child, was a shadow of the father Peter feared and hated, the scientist who's experiments left a trail of broken children in his wake.  Olivia fell back a step and swallowed hard and beside her Peter sucked in a sharp breath.

 

Peter's voice wavered only slightly.  "Say, 'thank you'."

 

The hateful look lasted only seconds more before it melted away and Walter looked down at what he was holding.  He blinked rapidly and rubbed his fingers against the sweater.  "This is my favorite sweater.  It's very warm.  I left it at the lab."  He looked up at Peter in confusion.

 

"Olivia got it for you.  She brought it here from the lab."

 

Walter's eyes were wide when he looked at her.  "You did?"

 

She forced a smile to her face to hide how shaken she was.  "Yes.  Peter said you missed it."

 

"Yes."  Walter was nodding now.  "Yes, I did."  He glanced quickly at Peter and then back.  "Thank you, Olivia."

 

"You're welcome."

 

Walter stepped closed and Olivia forced herself to stay still, to not back away.  "Would you like some tea?"

 

Peter laid a hand on Walter's shoulder, stopping his advance.  "Walter, Olivia wants to go home.  It's late."

 

"We have mint tea.  It's very soothing."

 

"Wal…"

 

She interrupted Peter.  "I'd like that, Walter."

 

"Wonderful."  He turned and hurried to the kitchen, shedding his robe and pulling the sweater on instead.

 

Peter caught her wrist as she moved past him.  "You don't have to stay."

 

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug.  "I want to stay."

 

The crash from the kitchen made Peter wince.  "You sure about that?"

 

His fingers were hot against the skin of her wrist and she nodded at him.  Peter sighed when he turned away and picked Walter's robe up on his way to the kitchen.  Olivia trailed after him, sweeping her eyes over the front room.

 

The house fascinated her, how quickly it had gone from a cold, empty space to a home filled with the sort of eccentric clutter that two eccentric people could generate.  She followed Peter, taking in new additions, eyes touching on items there previously, things that made her curious.  The guitar leaning carelessly against the wall drew her eyes again, tempted her to ask which of them played, left images of Peter's fingers scorched into her imagination.  She tossed her coat over the back of the sofa as she passed.

 

Peter was sweeping up the remains of a ceramic tea box and Walter was sulking at the table.  Both men looked up at her and Walter was the first to speak.

 

"I dropped the tea."

 

"That's okay."  Olivia opened the fridge and peered inside.  "Would you like some warm milk, instead?"

 

Walter considered the question.  "Yes.  Yes, that would be nice."

 

Olivia moved around the kitchen, letting the task or caring for her strange little found-family soothe her.  The rattle of the pan, the ticking of the lighter and the faint hiss of gas seemed loud.  Peter brushed past her to take the trash out the backdoor.  She felt vaguely guilty commandeering their kitchen, but neither Bishop seemed to mind.  She hunted around until she found mugs, then spices.  She poured milk for each of them, dusting the top with the fragrant spice.

 

Walter's hands were steady as he cupped them around the mug and leaned forward, inhaling deeply.  "Nutmeg…"  He looked up sharply.  "Peter, when you were a child…"  He met Peter's eyes and the smiled faded from his face.  Walter dropped his eyes back to the mug.

 

They sat in silence.

 

"When I was little, Rachel and I shared a room.  Rachel had nightmares sometimes and when she did, I'd let her crawl in my bed and I'd sneak downstairs and make warm milk for her.  Nutmeg was her favorite, but it was in the very top cabinet and I had to climb up on the counter to get it.  I was always worried that I'd get caught, because we weren't supposed to get things out of the kitchen on our own after bedtime, but it helped her get back to sleep."  Walter was watching her, his eyes bright as they met hers.  She resisted the urge to look at Peter, but she could feel the weight of his stare.  ""I'd take the milk back upstairs to her and tell her stories while she drank it and she'd fall asleep in my bed."

 

Walter's smile was sad.  "You took care of her."

 

Olivia nodded.

 

Peter's voice was soft.  "Are you done with your milk?"

 

Walter seemed surprised that his mug was empty.

 

"Ready for bed?"

 

He nodded.

 

"Go brush your teeth and put your pajama pants on.  You can't sleep in those."

 

Peter waited until they could hear water running in the bathroom before turning his attention back towards her.

"Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah."  Olivia stood and gathered the mugs, still avoiding Peter's eyes.

 

She kept moving, hoping he would look away, let it drop.  She placed the dishes in the sink.  The weight of his stare was nearly a physical thing, prickling along the back of her neck, skittering down her spine, settling in her stomach as butterflies.  She braced her hands on the edge of the counter but didn't turn towards him.

 

"What did he say to you?"

 

She shook her head.

 

"Olivia…"

 

"It doesn't matter."

 

He was behind her and turned her gently.  "Of course, it matters."

 

She fixed her eyes on where the collar of his shirt crossed his suprasternal notch, watched the faint fluttering of his pulse there.  "He said I was weak, because I wouldn't let Walter die."

 

Peter clenched his jaw and tilted his head up to look at some point behind her for a moment.  "You need Walter.  You know that.  We'll have other chances to catch that bastard."

 

"It's not just…"  She licked her lips and dropped her eyes.  "If I let Walter…"  She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.  "I need you, too."

 

His fingers grazed her cheek before sliding through her hair to cup the back of her head.  He pulled her to him, wrapping her in a hug and she burrowed her face into this neck.  She sighed and relaxed into him.

 

"I brushed my teeth!  Oh."

 

She stepped sideways out of his embrace and was moving towards he door before Peter could react.  "I should go.  Goodnight, Walter."

 

Walter smiled at her, amusement lighting his eyes.  "Are you sure you don't want to stay here tonight?  I'm sure Peter wouldn't mind"

 

She paused and smiled despite the blush that heated her cheeks.  "Thanks, Walter, but I need to go home."

 

"Of course, Agent Dunham.  Thank you, again, for bringing my sweater."

 

She nodded and glanced back at Peter.  "See you tomorrow?"

 

Peter's expression was torn between amused and exasperated.  "Yeah, Olivia.  Tomorrow."


End file.
